


My Refuge and Asylum

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Suicide mention, Torture Mentions, and then not at all, fluff for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you like Wade Wilson and enjoy reading about nice things happening to him you should probably skip this fic. If not, please enjoy the angst. I’ll be over in the corner crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Refuge and Asylum

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say I'm sorry about this but I'm not even anymore. I'm just evil.

The day Peter asks him to live with him is one of the happiest of Wade’s life.

“You really want me living in the Spider-Cave?!” he asks in joyful disbelief. “Can I sleep in the bed? Can I finally be allowed back in the kitchen? Should we get matching housecoats with our initials monogrammed on them?”

“Where else would you be sleeping?” Peter asks, with raised eyebrows.

“Couch, floor, bathtub… webbed to the ceiling like that one time,” Wade counts them off on his fingers.

Had he ever actually been webbed to the ceiling? Wade pauses to consider, but with the way Peter looks as he’s laughing he finds it really doesn’t matter.

“You can sleep in the bed, you are never ever allowed in the kitchen, and I’ll think about the housecoats, but only if they aren’t red, blue or black because that’s tacky,” Peter tells him, opening his arms for a hug.

“Huh. Can we start calling ourselves the Bruise Brothers? We’ve got the colour scheme down,” he replies, hesitating for a few moments too long and forcing Peter to step forward and forcibly pull him into the embrace.

“Don’t fight it Wade,” Peter laughs. “Hug it out.”

He does Peter one better, grabbing his head and pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

“One condition,” Peter mutters against his lips as they come up for breath. “You have to be there when I wake up in the morning. No more disappearing.”

Wade struggles to think back. When was the last time he disappeared on Peter? And how was he supposed to promise it would never happen again? How can he explain the panic he feels when Peter touches him and whispers words he can’t possibly mean and falls asleep with a smile on his face that he has caused.

Thinking is making his head hurt. It’s like an axe lodged in right through his right eye, pain so vivid it’s almost blinding.

“I’ll try,” he says truthfully.

That must be good enough for Peter because he just smiles brightly and pulls him back in for another sweet and lingering kiss. Wade decides then and there that if there is anyone worth trying to be better for it’s this adorable, scrawny little nerd, clinging to him so tightly and grounding him in ways he never thought were possible.

“Okay, go pack up my shit and lets get this show on the road,” Wade says, untangling himself from Peter and striding over to throw himself onto the couch and flip the tv on.

He tunes out Peter’s indignant yelling by cranking the volume, smiling to himself right up until a suitcase is hurled violently into his head.

……………….

Watching Peter curled up on their bed, reading a book in the warm afternoon sunlight, Wade realizes he is terribly bored.

Unfortunately for Peter this means mere seconds later he is jolted from his reading by a wet finger worming its way into his ear.

“Oh my God Wade, what the hell?!” he shrieks, pushing the giggling man off the bed. “That’s disgusting,” he says, horrified, rubbing at his ear in revulsion.

Wade just cackles, climbing back up onto the bed as Peter glares at him before returning pointedly to his reading.

He gets less than three words down the page before Wade pokes him hard in the side, making him jump so high he nearly ends up stuck to the ceiling in shock.

“Stop,” Peter warns sternly, trying to settle back in while Wade rolls on the bed, laughing his ass off. This time he gets about three pages before Wade is pinching and poking at his neck.

“Wade stop,” he waves him off, annoyed.

Wade goes quiet, which should be a warning sign, but Peter is too absorbed in his book to notice until Wade lunges at him, draping himself across Peter and poking all down his side.

“Wade get off of me!” There’s anger now mixed with the annoyance, which means he should probably back off.

So logically Wade decides to steal his book, throwing it across the room before flopping down fully on top of him with a gleeful cackle as he pinches and prods him mercilessly, making Peter squirm.

“Are you kidding me right now?! Stop before I throw you out a window,” Peter is finally laughing though, despite his words, trying half-heartedly to wiggle out from under Wade’s body as he continues pinching every exposed patch of skin.

“You wouldn’t throw me out the window would you baby boy?” Wade asks, propping himself up with an arm on either side of Peter’s body and looming over him.

Peter looks up into his eyes and smiles softly. “Without a second thought,” he replies cheerfully. They both lean in at the same time for the kiss, and it’s wonderful and soft and sexy and everything Wade has ever longed for.

And then he’s biting his own tongue hard enough to make it bleed as a stab of blinding pain shoots through his side.

“Revenge,” Peter’s voice says through the haze of pain, his finger moving to poke him in the chest next before he realizes something is wrong.

“Crap, Wade are you okay?” he asks urgently. With Peter’s hands holding his shoulders tightly and his eyes clouded with worry it’s easy for Wade to shake off the pain as though it’s nothing. He swallows the blood in his mouth and fights against the scream that’s lodged dangerously in his throat.

“I’m fine. Must’ve poked a sensitive scar,” he shakes his head to try to clear it. There’s a ringing in his ears that is rather alarming, as though his eardrums have burst (again), but they must be intact because he can hear Peter fussing over him while his hands brush gently over the spots where he poked him as though he’s made of freaking glass.

“That or it was all part of my ingenious plot for revenge,” he cackles, resuming his attack until Peter is breathless with laughter on the bed beneath him.

“You really are a jerk you know,” Peter coos affectionately, too tired to take the opportunity for more payback as Wade settles down beside him. “And I’m so not letting you be the big spoon because of it.”

Wade pretends to whine and struggle as Peter flips him over as though he weighs nothing and settles against his back. Running a hand over his skin surreptitiously, he feels nothing out of the ordinary. No terrible pain. No nausea or shaking limbs or blood. Even his tongue has already healed.

He shrugs to himself and nestles in, bearing his little spoon position with manly pride.

………………

“Why haven’t you been parading me around town showing me off to all your friends?” Wade whines in Peter’s ear one morning. The other man is still half asleep, squinting at him like he isn’t sure who, or what exactly Wade is.

“Wha?” he asks blearily. Wade chuckles and congratulates himself for tiring the poor guy out so thoroughly.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he trills, tossing his head in a dramatic gesture of despair.

“Wade… you haven’t let me leave this bed for two days. How am I supposed to parade you around?” Peter chuckles tiredly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Huh. Good point,” Wade concedes, leering at the naked man beside him.

“How about your friends?” Peter grumbles. “I’d like to meet Bob and Weasel more officially.”

Wade almost squeals. Meeting each other’s friends. That’s a big deal right? So much of a big deal that he’s feeling nauseous? He’s turning into such a girl.

“Don’t forget Al! You’ll love her. Crazy old blind lady, tough as nails, and you like old ladies right? Your aunt is one so you must…” he pauses momentarily blinking at Peter’s smiling face.

“That reminds me, have I ever told you the story about the sea park and the massive tear in the space-time continuum? You were there… sort of and… holy…” he trails off as Peter begins to toy at his own nipple with one hand while the other skims slowly down over his stomach. He’s clearly not listening, which should be rude but is actually rather hot.

“Y’know what? I can tell you about it later,” Wade says quickly. The nausea of before is gone, replaced with an all over tingly-good feeling of arousal as he moves forward to give Peter a hand.

“Much later.”

………….

Wade is whistling to himself, his weapons spread out on the bed as he takes stock and cleans them lovingly.

He gently caresses the blade of a small ornamental dagger Peter got him as a present, and smiles fondly. Peter may not be that enthusiastic about his career choice, but he really knows how to pick weaponry.

“I made coffee if you want some Wade,” Peter yells from the kitchen.

Wade opens his mouth to answer, but it isn’t his voice that comes out.

“We need to create more damage to keep the healing factor active,” a deep voice says clinically.

His hand flies to his throat and his heart pounds so hard he thinks his chest might explode.

“What?” Peter yells back.

“Uh, nothing! Be right there, I’m just polishing my sword” he replies, shaking his head trying to dislodge the echoes of screaming he can hear ringing in his ears.

“Is that a euphemism?” Peter asks with a laugh.

Now is not the time to be having vivid Weapon X flashbacks. Not when he’s starting something startlingly domestic with his friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man and things are going so well.

“If I wanted that sword polished I’d rather it was you doing the polishing if you know what I mean,” he says cheerfully, sauntering into the kitchen and stealing the cup from Peter’s hands. His heart is still beating too fast in his chest, but Peter’s smile is enough to steady it out, and his hands snaking around his middle works better than a tranquilizer to calm him down.

“That’s my coffee actually,” he complains as Wade smiles widely and gulps some down, burning his mouth and throat in the process.

Gasping and clutching at his throat he feels a brief flicker of horror, but then Peter is laughing, loud and carefree laughter that reminds him he’s had worse injuries than a little burn.

“Karma strikes again,” Peter says, grabbing his head and kissing him hard. They stay pressed against each other kissing in the kitchen for a while, until Wade is dizzy with the thought that this is all he’s ever wanted and the lingering fear that Peter’s karma comment might come back to bite him in the ass.

 

……….

Lying in Peter’s arms Wade presses kisses all over his face until Peter has to laugh and push him away.

“You’re awfully affectionate tonight,” he says settling back into the groove of Wade’s arms with a low chuckle.

He is. He isn’t sure why, but at the moment if feels like if he stops kissing him for even a second something horrible is going to happen.

“Nah, you just taste good. Must be that girly face wash you use,” he says, running a hand down his arm, a feather light brush that tickles and teases a smile onto the other man’s face.

“Sure, I’m the girly one,” he chortles.

When Wade feels hands sliding across his suddenly bare chest he hums in contentment, although something about it seems wrong somehow, like when he used to lose time back on Providence.

Then Peter is kissing him, but he can’t remember how it started, and the blankness that roars up in his mind is petrifying. He sits up and shakes as Peter asks him what’s wrong, but he can’t remember, can’t think, can’t breathe and so he closes his eyes.

When he opens them there’s blood. Too much blood. There are maggots feasting on the open hole of his chest, and severed limbs at awkward angles and pain pain pain.

Starting awake with a scream he’s aware of Peter looming over him looking worried.

“Bad dream,” he manages, breathing hard and trying to block out the memory of the smell of blood. He pulls Peter down into a kiss and is met with an enthusiastic response, as though Peter is trying to kiss the bad dreams out of his head.

When Peter’s hands start getting busy sliding down his torso it’s almost enough to make him forget the horror he’s just dreamt. The way the hands slide and press with the clear intent to make him moan is almost too much on the edge of such a traumatic dream, but he can’t bring himself to tell Peter to stop.

Wade let’s his eyes drift shut, trying to revel in the bliss of having Peter touch him.

More blood. A man in a lab coat talking and the sound of someone screaming loud in his ears.

When his eyes fly open again Peter is there, moving on top of him, helping him out of his clothes.

“Shit, Peter I think something’s-” Peter mouths at his nipple making him gasp at the little spike of pleasure it sends coursing through him. “Something’s wrong,” he chokes.

Peter’s hand starts to stroke him, slow and thorough, taking him apart with each swipe of his thumb over the head of his cock.

“I know Wade. It’s just bad dreams. I’m here,” he bites down on the other nipple and Wade arches into him with a cry.

“I’ve been having… I think I’m having flashbacks and…” Peter isn’t listening. He’s too busy taking Wade’s erection into his mouth to pay attention. And for Wade the urgency of his panic eases under the hot, wet slide of Peter’s lips down the length of his cock, and the soothing swipes of Peter’s tongue against his flesh.

“Peter, oh God Peter. More, please I need more,” he begs as Peter runs his teeth lightly down to the head where he sucks hard.

When Wade comes it’s to the feeling of Peter’s hand entwined in his own and his smiling mouth against his skin, and it’s enough for now to block out the fear that still lingers at the back of his mind.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter whispers, crawling back up to settle in Wade’s arms. When Wade closes his eyes again there’s only blackness and the sound of Peter’s breathing, steady and calming against his chest.

…………..

Wade is feeling morose. Just a little bit melancholy. Macabre? Either way, he’s currently experiencing the full spectrum of depressing ‘m’ words.

Peter is pretty much the most perfect person he’s ever met. Sure his wrists sometimes make that gross weird clicking noise, and yes he’s a bit too much of a goody two shoes at times, to the point of draining all the fun from any given room, but otherwise he’s pretty amazing. Adorable, noble, brave, strong. Really he’s practically a dream come true.

Which is why Wade is worried it will never last.

He tells Peter as much as often as he can, but it turns out Peter’s other super power is the power of persuasion. Each time Wade has a rare moment of clarity and selflessness Peter manages to change his mind with that earnest sincerity he pulls off so well.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Wade tries, struck by fear and nausea by the domesticity of getting ready for bed one night. “One day I’ll kill a basket full of kittens or somethin’ and when I need you… well it’s a lot easier to turn your back on the guy with all the c-4 and the basket of Chinese food isn’t it? I wouldn’t blame you, honestly.”

The look that Peter gives him is one he never wants to see on his face again. Such startling sadness and understanding that Wade just wants to run the other way as fast as he can to escape it.

“That won’t happen Wade,” he promises solemnly. “I’m never going to turn my back on you.”

The room seems so small, and Peter is larger than life standing before him, promising things he has no right to promise. Not to a habitual screwup like him. But the flutter in his chest is at war with his cynicism and there’s a traitorous part of his mind wondering if maybe he can do it this time. The feeling he’s having is far too much like hope for his comfort.

“Okay Pete,” he breathes, sitting down on the bed under a sudden dizzy spell.

When Peter crawls up on his lap and kisses him the dizzying sensation only gets worse, and so does the hope. Maybe for once, with Peter by his side, he can actually be a better man. Maybe this time he stands a chance.

 

………………..

“I love you,” Peter tells Wade calmly one day, looking straight into his eyes.

They are sitting cross-legged on the floor with their backs against the couch playing an impromptu game of strip poker, both of them blatantly cheating by peeking at the other’s cards.

“You what?” he yelps, dropping his cards all over the floor.

“I love you,” Peter says again, smiling brightly and taking a moment to examine Wade’s cards more closely where they’ve fallen at his knees.

“Did you say that just to cheat? That’s low Petey, real low,” Wade grumbles half-heartedly. “That’s something I’d do, and I’m an amoral assho-” Peter’s lips press against his in a sweet kiss that takes his breath away.

“I love you,” Peter repeats for the third time. Strange how Wade’s heart still flutters the same way it did the last two times.

“Are you sure? Have you met me?” he asks him seriously. Peter just laughs.

“Yes Wade. How many times do I have to say it?”

You could probably see Wade’s grin from space. “Why don’t you try saying it a few more times and we’ll see?”

Peter opens his mouth, smiling brightly. And then everything goes dark.

…………………..

“Wilson? Can you hear me?” The voice sounds like Captain America’s, but that makes no sense. Why would Steve Rogers be talking to him? He almost wants to laugh and tell Peter about this, but Peter never finds even his most strange hallucinations funny, and besides he hasn’t had one of them in ages.

“Deadpool? Get him up. Carefully please, he’s been through a lot,” Wade feels himself being tugged up into a sitting position, and it’s enough to finally convince him to open his eyes. He does laugh then, as the faces of the Avengers swim into view, all looking somber.

“This is the best hallucination yet. Where’s the tub of Jello and why are you all still dressed?” he croaks. His throat is so dry that it hurts, but it was worth the pain to see the group of heroes shift uncomfortably.

“It’s definitely Wilson,” Iron Man’s mechanized voice puts in, with only the barest hint of sarcasm. For Tony Stark to withhold his scorn something must be terribly wrong.

“Peter, what the hell happened? Where are we?” Wade asks anxiously. Peter is acting strange, hanging back and looking around at the other Avengers as though he wants one of them to answer Wade’s questions instead of him.

Looking down at himself he sees his midsection is torn to bits, the deep wound exposing parts of his body he’s pretty sure are meant to remain unseen.

“Wade, you’re at a Hydra base,” Cap tells him gentle but firm, like he’s talking to a skittish dog.

Hydra. That makes sense. At the very least it explains the torture he appears to have been through, though he can’t recall exactly how exactly he’s been tortured. In fact, he doesn’t remember how he got here either. He tries to think back and only encounters blackness.

With a start he realizes he can’t remember anything for the longest time besides Peter holding him and laughing with him and kissing him senseless. No missions, no kills, no late lonely nights by the tv eating three day old take out. Nothing.

“Pete, I feel sick,” Wade mutters. “Take me home, please.” He looks pleadingly at the man standing before him in his Spider-Man costume, keeping a cautious distance. He should be rushing forward, even if the other Avengers are there, and despite the terrible situation he’s found himself in, that is strangely what scares him the most.

“Please Peter, I need to get out of here. I feel sick Petey, please please take me home. I need you to take me home, please.” He can’t stop babbling, and the assembled Avengers are looking at him like he’s insane, but he’s panicking and he can’t seem to control his body. He’s shaking hard and he desperately needs Peter to look at him.

Spider-Man glances around in confusion, averting his eyes from the trembling man before him to look at the assembled Avengers who are all shifting nervously. “Uh, is he talking to me?”

“Peter, a word,” Captain America says sternly, taking Peter aside. If Wade could, he would surge up and follow them, clinging to Peter despite how damn needy it would make him seem, because right now he does need him. Unfortunately when he tries he almost falls on his face, which is pretty embarrassing, especially when he realizes his near tumble is the result of not having any feet at the moment.

“Shit, I knew I left something behind at the ball,” he mutters. “Now I’ll never get that prince off my back.”

A small bark of nervous laughter escapes the group of heroes gathered around him, but he only has eyes for Peter, who is locked in serious conversation with Captain America in one of the less bloody corners of the room. He keeps glancing nervously over at him, while Cap remains focused on their conversation, and for a brief moment hope blooms in Wade’s chest. Surely if Peter can’t keep his eyes off him everything is alright. He’s probably worried about him. Maybe Cap is just reminding him to be professional.

The thought feels despairingly like a lie, even to his own mind.

Peter glances over again and does some more uncomfortable squirming under Wade’s intense gaze, finally turning his back on him to concentrate on Cap.

With a final nod the two return and Peter hesitantly approaches him, like he’s confronting a wild animal that he fears might become vicious if he makes the wrong move.

“Dea- Wade, I know this is all probably pretty weird, even for you. So what do you say we take you back to the tower and get you checked out?” It’s like he’s speaking to a child, and it feels all wrong, but Wade gratefully accepts the hand that Peter holds out to him and hops up (his feet having regrown). He uses the momentum to throw himself into the other man’s arms, and Peter catches him like the perfect little hero he is.

For a brief minute it feels like he’s home.

But then Wade ruins it by leaning in and kissing him. Peter flinches away violently, almost dropping him before he regains some semblance of control. He quickly leans back in to steady Wade as he sways on his feet, and Wade thinks this feels an awful lot like getting shot in the heart.

Something is very wrong.

Thankfully the forces of the world take pity on him and he finally passes out from blood loss, his body slumping down; a bloody heap cradled in Peter’s arms.

…………..

“Mr. Wilson, the point of this session is for you talk,” the psychiatrist says sternly. He sound’s like a pretentious dick. Each consonant is pronounced with the crisp clarity that only a snotty rich brat can accomplish properly and Wade really wants to wring his neck. Nice and slow.

“I’ve been reliably informed that you are usually difficult to silence. Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?”

He looks like Mr. Potato Head, with features too large for his face, and Wade wonders viciously if he has a storage of extras crammed in his ass as well.

“Mr. Wilson, do you understand the status of your relationship with Spider-Man?”

Wade’s hand is around the man’s throat before he’s aware of moving.

“Don’t,” he chokes. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He wouldn’t even be here if… if Peter hadn’t asked him in that maddening stilted and unsure voice. He had looked at him with those big earnest brown eyes too, but the look wasn’t right. Not how he remembered Peter looking at him. Now he looks at him like he’s a stranger.

The doctor is making choking noises now, and the sound is annoying.

Wade lets him go and the man tumbles onto the ground.

The coughing and spluttering is almost more annoying than the choking, but eventually the frightened heap on the floor manages to collect himself and rise unsteadily to his feet.

“V-violence is a common reaction Mr. Wilson, but if you cannot restrain yourself I will be forced to call in one of the Avengers to ensure you don’t do something you would regret.” His voice is almost as gruff as Wade’s own he thinks with a flicker of delight. He’s not sure he would regret killing the nosey little creep but Peter wouldn’t like it if he…

“Now, as I was saying,” the man continues. “Twelve months ago you were captured by the criminal organization known as Hydra. You were tortured, presumably both physically and psychologically, although the details of their testing are sketchy at best.”

Wade tries to tune him out. He thinks of the most annoyingly upbeat N*Sync song he can and mentally blares it. Unfortunately not even the dulcet tones of JT crooning in his mind can drown out the punch line, delivered in a calm detached voice by a man he wants to see bleed.

“You fixated on Spider-Man and created a life with him in your mind to deal with the pain,” the man coughs, still rubbing at his neck as he retreats behind his desk, probably to press a panic button.

Wade nods, going back to staring listlessly at the floor.

“We aren’t sure why you chose Mr. Parker, but from reviewing your interviews right after the incident it’s clear this was a detailed and extended psychotic break.”

The N*Sync song screeches to a halt.

“Mr. Wilson do you understand what I’m saying?”

Wade finally looks up, giving him a cold glare. “Yeah thanks doc, I think I got it. You’re telling me that the one piece of happiness I finally, finally got to experience was just a lie to cover up the disaster that is my life. I hear you loud and clear. Can I go now?”

He hops to his feet not waiting for an answer and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard it shakes the wall.

He’s just about to turn the corner at the end of the hall when he slams into someone coming the opposite way.

As luck would have it the man happens to be Mr. Fantasy himself, decked out in his Spider-Man costume, although his mask is held in his hand, leaving his face bare.

The guy looks startled.

No wonder. Running into the psychopath who created a sick little fantasy world around you has to be pretty jarring.

“Wade-” Peter starts, only to be cut off by a bark of harsh laughter. The sound of his name on Peter’s lips is too much. That voice that’s called out to him a million times in a million different ways has never once sounded so distant and frightened.

He turns on his heel and bolts, Peter’s voice chasing after him down the hall.

It’s still ringing in his ears an hour later when he blasts it out, along with his brains against the wall.

And if when he comes back Peter is still lurking there in his mind… well, there are always five more rounds waiting to deliver him back to the darkness.


End file.
